


through the maze

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22787041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Lorenzo and Francesco were promised to one another as children, if they proved compatible. By the time such a thing is evident, the enmity between their families is absolute, so Lorenzo is matched to another...(A/B/O is implied. Lorenzo will end up with Francesco eventually.)[03 Jan 2021- ON HIATUS: As you know, this world is kinda tearing at the seams and I just don't have enough time right now to give these stories what they deserve. Seemy profilefor more info/to contact me. I will not be replying to comments on fics until further notice.]
Relationships: Giuliano de' Medici/Clarice Orsini, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

When Lorenzo emerged from his rooms, blinking as though he were some burrowing creature unused to the sunlight, he didn’t feel like a changed man. Didn’t feel any more dainty, compassionate or nurturing than he did before. His main concern was the bank, the state of Florence, as though his absence of a few scant days might have caused irreparable damage. Certainly the look of exasperation on his mother’s face seemed to lay his fears to waste.

“We have more pressing things to discuss,” she said crossly, which seemed absurd to Lorenzo.

All his life, he can never remember a single issue taking precedence over the state of their bank, or the place of the Medici within Florentine society. But once the discussion gets underway, it soon becomes clear that, as usual, his mother was thinking of both.

“We must conceal your new status, for a while,” she murmured, brushing back Lorenzo’s still drying curls.

After days of sweating out the mating fever, the first thing Lorenzo had called for was a bath. Freshly clean, he listened in agitation to his mother plot to deceive the church.

“Should the Pope learn I have been continuing to act as man…” Lorenzo replied, leaving the possible repercussions implied.

“Not so long as that,” said Lucrezia quickly, “We must make haste to secure Guiliano’s position. He hasn’t been involved in the bank for years, confidence must be built.”

Because naturally, Lorenzo cannot continue as the head of the Medici. Not now that he had been blessed by god. He shivered in sudden fear, uncertain, perhaps for the very first time, in his role within the family. Lorenzo had essentially lead a coup to overthrow his own father, to prevent the same happening to Florence. Perhaps this is god’s punishment. He did not obey his father, and now he will never be one himself. Lorenzo had been given a different path to take, one which would see him lose the influence he once wielded. He will be forced to work from the shadows, to offer direction as his mother did, and hope Guiliano would listen to his advice. 

It stings like bitter medicine to think of Guiliano taking his place, but there is nothing to be done. God has willed it, and Lorenzo can do nothing but obey.

“You know I had been set to secure you the hand of Clarice Orsini,” Lucrezia caught his attention again, clutching Lorenzo’s hands between her own, “It is a blessing this did not happen later. The Orsini cannot claim reparations for a broken betrothal, and perhaps all is not undone. Clarice has brothers, I believe. There might still be a suitable match between our families.”

Lorenzo swallowed thickly, despite having endeavoured to accept this new reality with grace. The thought of a man’s touch was still a strange one. He had only had a female lover. Lucrezia Donati captured his heart at sixteen, and he had shared her bed ever since. Lorenzo had hoped her infirm husband might die, so that they would wed. But the man had recovered and continued to thrive. Lorenzo doubted his new status would matter to Lucrezia, but the church would disapprove greatly. No matter how surreal it felt, Lorenzo had been reformed by god, was considered chaste and would need to remain so, until he took a husband.

“The Orsini remain a suitable choice,” he said eventually, “I should prefer them to… others.”

He was thinking of the men of the Signoria, men who had grown to despise or grudgingly respect him. What perverse pleasure would such men take at having the great Lorenzo de Medici at their mercy after watching him manipulate and persuade the Signoria to his will? Perhaps there might yet be a match from among their few allies there, who would appreciate Lorenzo’s sharp mind. He would prefer that, to a husband which expected him to remain in the house, organising dinners. But how to convince a man that Lorenzo was a worthwhile investment, as a shrewd but demure wife, when he had been so outspoken in vital political matters?

Lorenzo winced, knowing he was going to be forced to shadow his mother, to better learn how to act, and manage the household maintenance. It galled him to know he was lagging behind his own sister, in knowledge that would now be considered essential. Lucrezia took his less than enthused expression to mean something else, however.

“The Pazzi cannot know of this,” she hissed, her fingers tightening uncomfortably over his own, “If they manage to produce evidence of the pact, before you have transferred power to Guiliano, it could be a disaster for the bank.”

“The pact?” Lorenzo repeated, while a stirring in his mind told him he ought to know of what she spoke.

Her wide eyes agreed. “Surely you remember the agreement. That if you and Francesco were compatible…”

Lorenzo’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. There had been a time when he and Francesco had been as brothers; practically joined together. The Pazzi and Medici had been almost as one family, and it had been natural for their parents to seek to make that a truth in law. As children, Francesco and Lorenzo both had been thrilled at the prospect of a future marriage, focused on never being parted from their closest friend, having no real concept of the responsibilities it entailed. Now, the idea of being wedded to Francesco de Pazzi seemed absurd, and frankly frightening. To live in Jacopo de Pazzi’s household, and have the miserable man breathing down Lorenzo’s neck, passing judgement upon his every action… Nausea rose in Lorenzo’s throat at the very thought.

“I had forgotten,” Lorenzo murmured, “But surely they would not seek to-”

“Never underestimate the Pazzi need to undermined and infuriate this family,” his mother cautioned, “Jacopo would relish nothing more than chaining you to his nephew, then ordering you cooped up in their palazzo. We would be lucky to speak at Mass.”

“Francesco wouldn’t allow me to be kept prisoner,” Lorenzo protested, even as his heart sank at the thought, that his former friend might be capable of such cruelty.

His mother only hummed in reply, unconvinced.

*

True to her word, his mother moved quickly. Within the month, they hosted the Orsini family, while Giuliano struggled to readjust to his new role. Many of their customers would not care who lead the bank, so long as the man in question seemed confident in his choices. The Papal accounts were another issue altogether. They might yet be forced to send Giuliano to Rome to explain, and Lorenzo might even be forced to join the excursion, if sent for by name. There will be no disguising his nature then, as Lorenzo would not dare to lie or dress inappropriately when meeting the Holy Father. And every Florentine family of influence had agents in Rome. The Pazzi would know the truth before they returned.

Of all the aspects of his new path that were foreign to him, Lorenzo did not expect to find his new wardrobe to give him such difficulty. His mother had gone so far as to give their tailor a room in the Medici palazzo, lest an underling let slip the unusual clothing they were delivering. Lorenzo’s doublets were shortened in length, to lie better above his skirts. Thankfully, men were no longer required to dress in the same fashions as women in Florence. Lorenzo still wore breeches, though they were a tighter fit now to better hug his curves. Accompanied by either a doublet and open skirt which fluttered about his legs like a cloak, or a long, floor-length fitted coat that was essentially a dress, where the body of the skirt again parted at the waist, to expose the breeches beneath.

He felt ugly and rather ridiculous, and Guiliano’s baffled reaction the first time he wore such attire, caused Lorenzo blush horribly.

“I look foolish,” said Lorenzo, “And I keep tripping over these infernal skirts. I am going to shame myself, and all of Florence will laugh-”

“You look beautiful,” Giuliano declared, cutting though Lorenzo’s irrational outpourings, “Forgive me, I was taken aback to see you rival Bianca, in sweetness.”

“I’m immune to your flattery, brother,” Lorenzo laughed, though it was not strictly true.

He certainly felt conspicuous, when this declaration was followed by a strange moment when Giuliano offered his arm as Lorenzo, and they had both done many times for their sister and mother. After a period of hesitation Lorenzo took it. His new clothing was dyed in the same rich, dark blues and purples he preferred, and he would get used to the unfamiliar cuts. He would simply walk slower in the interim. The proud, pleased look on Lucrezia’s face when they joined the family for dinner, assured Lorenzo he could settle into his new role, given time. 

Though it was pleasant to have the Orsini as guests, it ultimately proved fruitless for Lorenzo. Clarice Orsini would have been a sweet wife, but neither of her brothers were suitable. The elder had already married, and the younger was _too_ young.

“He’s yet a boy,” Lorenzo whispered to his mother one night, while their guests milled together, each with goblets of wine from the Medici vineyard clutched in their hands.

Bianca was entertaining the Orsini men, while Giuliano tried unsuccessfully to woo Clarice, who grimaced at his attempts to charm. Seated beside Lorenzo, Lucrezia nodded sagely.

“I had already concluded as much. Jacapo Orsini would expect the engagement to be a long one, and once word got out…” she sighed heavily. “Still, all is not lost. Giuliano and Clarice will make a fine match, once the girl reconciles herself to it.”

Lorenzo gaped at her uncouthly, before remembering to school his features into neutrality.

“The Medici are still in need of noble associations,” she reminded him with mild amusement, “And there is no need to let this alliance fall apart entirely. Naturally, it would be wasteful to arrange two matches into the same family. But Messer Orsini are I are in agreement, that his daughter, tied to the head of the Medici family…”

Lorenzo swallowed thickly, his eyes burning inexplicably. Weeks had gone by since the fever abated, but no one had yet dared to speak of Lorenzo’s loss explicitly. His mother looked repentant, quickly but smoothly taking hold of his arm, so that their guests were not alarmed.

“Forgive me,” she said, “I cannot imagine how strange these changes must seem to you. You have always been dutiful, and strong, Lorenzo. Your Grandmother spoke often of her confidence in your leadership, and she was not wrong. Your advice will be invaluable to Guiliano, and your future husband. Do not give in to despair.”

Lorenzo nodded, but remained somewhat bitter, and troubled by his own lack of equanimity. His unquiet mind lingered, and eventually took his feet to the Duomo, where he knelt before god and begged for guidance. It was wrong to question the almighty’s plans but Lorenzo could not stop feeling cheated. The priest offered him a sympathetic look when he finally rose to his feet, knees protesting the treatment of bare stone.

“Will you hear my confession, father?” Lorenzo asked, with the sharpness of a plea.

“Of course, my son.”

Lorenzo was shamefaced as he admitted his fears.

“I have sinned, father,” Lorenzo admitted, “I have almost been in despair. I have questioned the path god has chosen for me.”

“We cannot know why god directs us as he does,” said the priest kindly, “Only find peace in following his will. We cannot see the path, but must take comfort in the knowledge that all things have happened in accordance with his grand scheme.”

Lorenzo could only nod, but his heart felt somewhat lighter when he returned home. If he stopped worrying about his brother's capability, and the mockery that was sure to come from the Pazzi and their lackeys he might find peace in fulfilling his new duties. He had always been an obedient son, and risen to any task demanded of him. Lorenzo would not falter now.

It was only scant more days, before Lucrezia announced she had secured a match for him. Lorenzo was surprised. Knowing that secrecy was of the utmost importance, he had expected the task would be more arduous and therefore lengthy.

“Who is to be my husband?” Lorenzo asked calmly, though the idea was still a strange one.

Until this year, Lorenzo had never considered that he might have a husband. There had only been Lucrezi Donati, and his youthful attachment to Francesco, which had never included romance. They had been boys, pleased with the idea of living inseparably to continue their games. But the time to set aside childish schemes was long past.

“Alessandro Salviati,” his mother revealed, with an air of triumph.

Lorenzo felt himself raise an eyebrow in disbelief. The man in question was a widower, and his advance in years. Perhaps ten or even fifteen years his senior. Their paths did not cross often. Salviati was not heavily involved with Florentine politics, but was of impeccable noble stock. Lorenzo knew little about the man, save that his devotion to his wife had resulted in a long period of mourning. Salviati had no heir, but he had not taken another wife in the five or six years since she had died.

“I did not think he was in the market for another wife,” said Lorenzo, trying to picture the man. He recalled only a dark, stern countenance. 

“He was not,” said Lucrezia, “But your mother is a persuasive woman, Lorenzo.”

She took him into her arms and embraced him warmly, before stepping back to press a kiss to his forehead.

“He is not an exciting man,” she cautioned him, “But seems a clever one. His interests run toward philosophy, academic conversation. I doubt he will expect nor enjoy hosting an abundance of gatherings, but I trust you will find some common ground. I think he will make you happy, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo allowed himself to be drawn into another embrace, and dearly hoped her words would prove true. It sounded like a quieter life at least, without the constant pressures of commerce and the Signoria. And if he managed to befriend his husband, they might advance together in a state of contentment.


	2. Chapter 2

“Lorenzo de Medici is to be married,” Jacopo announced, as though the news was an insult to him personally.

Francesco failed to see why the fact of Lorenzo’s betrothal should matter at all, but he knew better than to say so. Instead he set the ledger in his hands upon his desk patiently, feigning attentiveness. His uncle required an audience for his venomous speeches, but rarely did he care for another’s input. Save for assertations that he was indeed, correct. Jacopo saw the worst in everyone, probably because he was capable of greater misdeeds than most could even imagine.

“It was inevitable that the Medici would strive to insinuate themselves even further into the fabric of Florence,” Jacopo sneered, “I do not know the name of the man in question-”

“The man?” Francesco repeated, puzzled, “Lorenzo’s interests never ran that way.”

“The Medici are without morals,” his uncle declared, “Whichever unfortunate boy Lucrezia has ensnared for her son will soon discover that, when Lorenzo uses him as naught but a broodmare.”

That did not sound like the soft creature Francesco knew. Lorenzo had always been an idealistic humanist, and weak because of it. He had been ill of late, absent from the Signoria. Francesco had expected to feel relief at his absence. But to his annoyance Francesco found the proceedings less entertaining, when he could not glare at the other man across the room, and protest Lorenzo’s ideas. An adversary kept the meetings engaging.

At length, Jacopo grew bored and retired, leaving Francesco to ruminate over his words. He wondered who had captivated Lorenzo’s attention; if it were truly a mercenary match, as his uncle asserted, or if Lorenzo had fallen in love.

In actuality, Lorenzo was dreadfully bored. It was difficult to reconsile himself to the loss of the fast pace of his previous occupation. Alessandro Salviati was as his mother described. Learned, and generally serene. To Lorenzo’s relief, he was still a fit and healthy man. Many fell to the sins of gluttony and sloth, especially if they chose to remain out of society. A man who rarely left his home did not feel the need to impress his neighbours, and a man with the means Alessandro had, could afford to grow fat and lazy surrounded by gaudy displays of his wealth.

Lorenzo had worried his betrothed might be heavier, greying at the temples with aged skin, with no interest in advancing Florence. But Alessandro was pleasant to look upon, with a swift wit, and he seemed pleased with Lorenzo himself, which made it easier. He was a humanist also, so they found topics that resulted in satisfactory conversation, as they took turns around the beautifully verdant garden that rivalled Lucrezia’s in beauty. Alessandro invited Lorenzo to alter the furnishings and commission art to his taste, once he was the lady of the house. They seemed matched in their appreciation of beautiful things.

Lorenzo was a little disappointed by the lack of passion between them, but he suspected that might come with time. He reminded himself that many arranged matches led to great happiness. And he could hardly be expected to find the male form enflaming immediately, when he had never been free to before, nor ever considered it. He still hankered for Lucrezia Donati in moments of weakness, but Lorenzo was determined to go to Alessandro with an open heart, ready to accept another love.

Their betrothal was short. Before Lorenzo had time to truly fret over the wedding, it had arrived. It was a grand and glorious affair, and the first occasion Lorenzo was required to wear a veil. It felt incredibly intimate to have his new husband lift it, to reveal his face once they had arrived back at the Salviati villa. It was the first time they had been truly alone together, unchaperoned. Lorenzo tried in vain to control his breathing, his chest heaving with anticipation and anxiety.

“I hope you do not fear me, Lorenzo,” said Alessandro gently, using one calloused hand to cup Lorenzo’s soft cheek.

“No, my lord,” said Lorenzo, not entirely truthfully.

“I mean to be a true and generous husband to you,” Alessandro promised, “I desire you to be happy here… with me.”

Lorenzo intended to reply that he desired the same. But he was unable to form the words before Alessandro gently tipped his chin, and joined their lips for the first time. Despite the gentle, almost chaste press of their dry lips together, Lorenzo was quickly overwhelmed. It was too foreign, to be held gingerly like he was a skittish maiden, in arms so much thicker and more powerful than his own. Alessandro was indisputably a man, strong and weathered. Lorenzo felt like an untested boy beside him.

His husband stoked an enquiring thumb into the hollow of Lorenzo’s throat as they continued to exchange soft kisses. Lorenzo let out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at the sensation, and clutched onto Alessandro’s shoulders, undone by the smooth, proprietary touch. Alessandro chuckled thickly. He moved away from Lorenzo’s lips, to affix his mouth to Lorenzo’s throat instead. The sounds that elicited from Lorenzo were thoroughly indecent, as he fought to keep his wits.

“Our guests will take offense, my lord,” Lorenzo panted, while finding to his surprise, that one of his hands was now tangled in Alessandro’s hair.

His new husband laughed again, removing his mouth from Lorenzo’s bruised throat. They separated, to readjust their clothes and hair. Flustered, Lorenzo blushed horribly to know it took such a small interaction to weaken his knees. There seemed some truth to the rumours he had heard, of the other men who endured the fever. That the slightest touch would have him incensed, and the nights spent with his husband when the fever returned, would be the most ardent and enthusiastic he would ever experience. Lorenzo forcefully pushed aside that thought, nervous enough for the night ahead.

Once presentable, they re-joined their admiring guests, but not before Alessandro had pressed an affectionate kiss to Lorenzo’s knuckles. Together they basked in the congratulations of their pleased families and closest friends. And when the night drew in, they retired to knowing smiles and sly quips.

Lorenzo laced up his night shirt with trembling fingers, before chastising himself for being so nervous. He smoothed down the long cotton shirt and began to blow out the candles littered about the room.

Alessandro offered him another of his gentle smiles when he entered the room, knowing why Lorenzo desired the safety of a dim light. He crossed the room in large but measured steps, and tucked a flick of a curl behind Lorenzo’s ear. They kissed, and it did not remain gentle this time, but deepened into a passionate embrace. Lorenzo heard himself moaning as their tongues met, and Alessandro took control of his mouth.

They parted panting heavily, and Alessandro led him toward the richly furnished four-poster bed. Lorenzo moved to seat himself on it, intending to hide beneath the covers. A hand on his arm stopped him.

“Take off your night shirt, Lorenzo,” said his husband.

Lorenzo did as he was bid, slowly unlacing the string at his wrists, before starting on the one at his throat. He undid enough to lift the garment over his head, then did so, smooth and quick to stem any hesitation from embarrassment, though his cheeks were flooded with blood, bright red. Lorenzo let the thin garment fall from his fingers, leaving him utterly bare. His fingers twitched with discomfort to be so exposed before another man, but he made no movement to conceal himself. Lorenzo tilted his head back in a silent challenge, daring Alessandro to find him wanting. But his husband only smiled wider at Lorenzo’s haughty pose, stalking forward to close the distance between them again.

But instead of another kiss, which Lorenzo hoped for, his husband skimmed the tips of his fingers along Lorenzo’s sides, the edge of his flat stomach, to settle with a small squeeze on his hips. Alessandro hummed in appreciation. His eyes roamed from the tips of Lorenzo’s stiff peaked nipples, down his smooth stomach that would soon swell with their children, god willing, to where Lorenzo’s small cock lay soft between his legs, concealing the new slit beneath, that he had been too nervous to even touch.

Rattled by this silent assessment, Lorenzo lifted a hand to his husband’s cheek, coaxing his gaze upward again. His husband’s eyes seemed darkened with lust, and it was relief that Alessandro had not inexplicably found him repulsive. It allowed Lorenzo to be bold.

“Shall we to bed, husband?” Lorenzo asked.

Alessandro answered him with a heavy, hungry kiss.

They fell upon each other like starving savages. Alessandro was strong enough to lift Lorenzo, and once he had rid himself of his own night shirt, he did so. Lorenzo gasped in surprise, a sound quickly swallowed by kisses. He quickly adjusted to the sensation, and wrapped his legs about Alessandro’s waist. He was carried to bed, and quickly covered by the larger, older man.

Heavy, appreciative caresses over his skin had Lorenzo writhing in anticipation. His pretty whines rose in volume as Alessandro’s talented fingers played with him, then entered the new, secret part of Lorenzo that he had been too fearful to explore himself. Alessandro’s attention was unhurried and deliberate. When he finally entered Lorenzo, the younger man felt no pain, instead he sighed in satisfaction. Their first night together was harmonious, a gentle introduction into wedded life.

*

The first time Lorenzo attended Mass after his marriage, was only the second time he had worn clothes that denoted his new status in public, the first time being his wedding day itself. He ascended the steps beside Alessandro, mortified that the Pazzi were waiting atop them. Jacopo’s eyes were gleaming with triumph, but Francesco’s face held only unfettered shock. Lorenzo winced, knowing the other man was probably recalling the marriage pact their parents had brokered, and he wondered if Francesco felt cheated.

Surely Francesco could only feel as Lorenzo did; that a match between them would have been disastrous, causing only strife and misery for all involved. With a rivalry such as the one between their two influential families, a marriage between them would have been nothing more than an excuse for their kin to be at one another’s throats all hours of the day. Francesco seemed too bewildered to speak.

Lorenzo was so distracted that he missed Jacopo greeting them, and hastened to courtesy as Alessandro offered the Pazzi a stiff, formal bow.

“We have wondered at your absence from the Signoria, Messer Medici- forgive me,” Jacopo affected a contrite air, “That is surely no longer your name.”

Lorenzo refused to reply for a long, tense moment, before admitting it was not.

“No,” Lorenzo said defiantly, “It’s Lorenzo de Medici Salviati now.”

Lorenzo had never discussed this with his husband, and he felt Alessandro stiffen under his hand at the announcement. Lorenzo offered Jacopo a bland look, before turning his gaze to Francesco and softening ever so slightly.

There was an immature, naïve part of Lorenzo that had always hoped to rekindle the uncomplicated friendship they had enjoyed as boys. But Francesco had never responded to his overtures, and eventually Lorenzo had given up trying. It was no longer his place to attempt such things, and now Lorenzo had the excuse of his new status to avoid any unwanted confrontation. Women and blessed men such as him were expected to leave true men to their serious conversations, and occupy themselves with more trivial matters.

“You will forgive me if I leave you to talk politics, gentlemen, but I promised to secure a seat beside my mother,” said Lorenzo, a blatant fabrication.

Feeling emboldened by Francesco’s clear confusion, Lorenzo left Alessandro’s side, and offered out his hand. It was an action he had not yet become comfortable with, but managed smoothly enough now, when it counted. Etiquette was so deeply ingrained in them all, that Francesco clearly took it without thinking. So he was forced into a low bow, his forehead almost skimming Lorenzo’s knuckles.

It was a reminder to them all, that Lorenzo could no longer be a target for their aggression. He was not on equal footing with them. Now they would have to treat Lorenzo with as much respect and chivalry as any woman. When Francesco released him, Lorenzo directed victorious smirk at Jacopo. Then he gathered his heavy skirts to better hurry up the stone steps of the church. Lorenzo felt their eyes on his back, the entirety of the short climb.

Lorenzo found it a short-lived victory however. Alessandro quickly berated him _sotto voce_ once he joined Lorenzo inside, where his young husband had indeed taken the spot beside Lucrezia.

“I warned your mother, I would have no part in this ill-will between the Medici and the Pazzi,” Alessandro hissed in displeasure.

“My lord-”

“You will be silent until I am finished speaking,” Alessandro decreed, “Though I desire none of your excuses. You are a Salviati now, and this petty rivalry is beneath you.”

Lorenzo bit his tongue rather than exert it was not _him_ who had perpetuated the bad blood until it festered. He gave a jerk of his chin that might be accepted as a nod of agreement, his jaw clenching in fury to be talked down to as though he were a child. Incensed, Lorenzo turned to his mother, who offered him a look of commiseration, but it was clear she had no inclination to intervene. Lorenzo swallowed thickly, closing his eyes for a long blissful moment of darkness where there were no expectations or demands upon him.

When he opened them again, he found Francesco de Pazzi watching him curiously, with his familiar intense, forceful stare. It was unnerving, and Lorenzo found himself longing for the easy serenity he basked in when Alessandro was in a better mood.

“Forgive me, husband,” he whispered, clasping hold of Alessandro’s large warm hand with his own slender, pale fingers.

“I forgot myself,” Lorenzo admitted, “It will not happen again.”

Mollified, Alessandro accepted his attempt for reconciliation, giving Lorenzo’s hand a gentle squeeze. But Lorenzo could not resist another look in Francesco’s direction. As usual, the other man was still watching him, with unfathomable, humourless eyes.


End file.
